A Husband of Convenience

by Jacqueline Baird

  ‘No buts, Josie. It’s perfect. You and I are engaged. If anyone asks, we met in August at the church fair. You took yesterday afternoon off to have lunch with me, and we got engaged. Then imagine our horror when we returned to the Manor to hear that Charles had died. It’s perfect. We will attend the funeral on Tuesday as a couple, and we have a perfect excuse for a small, quiet wedding—we are in mourning for Charles.’

  She had thought he was ruthless but, listening to Conan, she realised he was diabolically devious. It all fitted, and yet she wanted to dent his superior male attitude. ‘What about the clinic I visited?’

  ‘So what? How long were you there—an hour, two? And did you tell the doctor the name of the father? Somehow I think not.’

  He was right again. She had deliberately travelled to Oxford, where no one knew her, and had spent most of the afternoon sitting in a coffee bar deciding what to do.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Josie admitted, and closed her eyes, overcome by sadness for poor Charles. When she opened them again, Conan was slowly assessing every one of her features, from her flushed face to her small hand that wore his ring. He gently caught her hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed her fingertips.

  ‘Don’t worry, Josie; you won’t regret marrying me, and it’s the best for everyone. Believe me.’

  Josie snatched her hand back; the touch of his lips on her skin disturbed her, more than she wanted to admit. ‘Oh, I do... You have everything worked out beautifully,’ she snapped sarcastically. ‘And hey! We can always get divorced once...’ She stopped; she could hardly say when the Major died or when Conan had Beeches Manor—it sounded too callous, even if it was true.

  Conan slanted her a sardonic glance. ‘You’re quite right. But let’s get married first, hmm?’

  ‘Yes.’ For the sake of her unborn child, and her father’s peace of mind, she would do anything. Marrying Conan could not be that bad, she told herself. He said he spent a lot of time in America so she might hardly ever see him.

  ‘Good. I am glad we understand each other. I have to leave now but I’ll be back to take you to dinner on Monday night. As I said, the funeral is on Tuesday and we’ll go together.’

  She never got a chance to answer as her father walked into the room. He looked at Josie, then at Conan.

  ‘When is the funeral? Have you got it all organised?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Jamieson—on Tuesday at two. But I need to speak to you on another matter.’ And, suddenly snaking an arm around Josie’s waist, he hauled her into his side. Josie tensed and tried to ease away from his iron grip, but his fingers dug sharply into her side, as a warning.

  ‘Your daughter has kindly agreed to be my wife, and I want your blessing,’ Conan said smoothly, bending his dark head towards Josie and brushing his lips along her brow, before clasping her hand and lifting it to show her father the ring on her finger.

  ‘Is this true, Josephine? You are engaged to Conan?’ Her father turned puzzled eyes on her flushed face. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

  Conan’s fingers dug deeper in her flesh. ‘Yes—yes, Daddy,’ she said, forcing a smile to her lips.

  ‘I love your daughter, Mr Jamieson, and I want to take care of her.’ Conan’s dark eyes lingered lovingly on her small face. ‘And she has made me the happiest man in the world today.’

  Josie stared in dumb amazement at Conan. Talk about over the top! Her father would never believe that. She glanced at her father, and she was stunned to realise he half did...

  ‘Do you really think you will be happy, married to Conan?’ he queried, his pale eyes, hazed with concern, clinging to hers. ‘You don’t have to rush into marriage, you know.’

  ‘But I want to, Daddy’ she said firmly, and, making herself look up into Conan’s dark face, she added, ‘I have no doubt at all; I adore Conan.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure Josephine,’ he said, his glance lingering on her. ‘And you do look better—you have some colour back in your face.’

  The colour was the result of anger at being pressed from leg to shoulder against the hard heat of Conan’s body. But the relief in her father’s eyes prevented her from disillusioning him. ‘I’m sure, Daddy,’ she said through clenched teeth.

  ‘In that case, Conan, of course you have my blessing. It was good of you to ask me.’

  Josie looked at her father’s smiling face and was amazed at his blindness. Conan had not asked, he had told him. Surely he’d heard the sarcasm in Conan’s tone? But apparently not.

  ‘I am so happy for you both,’ her father continued. ‘The death of Charles is a tragedy, but there is no point in adding tragedy upon tragedy. Josephine is a very lucky girl.’

  Lucky was not how she would have put it, Josie thought as she pulled her hand free of Conan’s and he finally let her move from his side, only to find herself enfolded in her father’s arms as he hugged her tightly.

  ‘It’s a miracle, Josephine. I told you everything would be fine.’ Her father patted her on the head, walked over to his armchair and sat down. ‘Have you seen my paper?’ he asked.

  Josie hated being patted on the head. It only accentuated her tiny stature in her mind, and added to the simmering resentment she felt against the two men in the room. She marched to the occasional table where the daily paper lay and picked it up. She was tempted to hit her dad over the head with it. Much as she loved her father, he was the world’s worst chauvinist; her opinions didn’t matter at all in comparison to Conan’s. She flashed an exasperated glance at her father’s down-bent head, then, turning, caught the gleam of wicked humour in Conan’s eyes.

  ‘Let me show you out,’ she snapped. She had a nasty suspicion Conan might turn out to be even more of a chauvinist than her father. Walking out into the hall, she opened the front door and stood back, expecting Conan to leave.

  ‘On my way over here this morning I was convinced I would have to bully you into listening to me,’ he confided as he stopped in the doorway, his large body almost filling the space. ‘I’m intrigued to discover you do possess some common sense after all, and I am delighted you have agreed to be my wife.’

  ‘After all...’ The nerve of the man! He had obviously thought she was an impulsive fool from the minute he’d met her. Well, she would prove him wrong, and be the perfect social wife, while giving her baby the very best start in life. ‘Yes, well, it is just business,’ Josie said firmly.

  ‘Of course, but take good care of the ring; it was my grandmother’s.’ His dark eyes slid down the length of her body with a possessive gleam in their golden depths, making Josie shudder inside, and for a second she questioned if his intentions really were platonic. His long, tanned fingers closed around her wrist, and she thought he was going to check the ring, but he surprised her completely by folding her hands behind her back, and easing her into close contact with his long body.

  ‘What...?’ she tried to pull her hands free.

  ‘Don’t look so frightened, Josie.’ Conan let go of her wrists. ‘I’m simply going to seal our deal with a kiss.’ Lowering his head, he closed his mouth gently over hers. His hands curved over her shoulders, and then swept lightly over her breasts and around her waist, holding her firm.

  To Josie’s shame she felt her traitorous body responding. How could she? she thought wildly, and, turning her head away from his searching lips, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed as hard as she could.

  ‘Business, remember, a marriage of convenience, you said!’ Her eyes were shooting sparks, but, when they clashed with his, to her fury he was grinning.

  ‘true, but we must present the right image of a loving couple—at least until the child is born. The odd kiss will be unavoidable, and it seems to me you need the practice.’ he chuckled. ‘See you Monday,’ and he left, spinning on his heel.

  Stunned, Josie simply stared at his retreating back as he walked down the short path to the road. It was only when he turned to give her a jaunty wave that she realised what she was doing, and slammed the
front door. She had a horrible feeling she might have just made the biggest mistake of her life...

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN the telephone rang on Saturday morning, Josie was having second, third and fourth thoughts about the advisability of a marriage of convenience to a man like Conan. Unfortunately, she discovered very quickly it was too late to get out of it. The caller was Zoe, her friend from work.

  ‘You sly dog, Josie! Migraine, my eye...’ Zoe’s voice echoed down the line. ‘What was it? A hot night of passion that spun over into the morning? But I do think you could have told me. I had no idea you were even going out with a man, let alone getting engaged.’

  ‘How did you know?’ Josie asked when she could get a word in, not at all sure who Zoe thought she was engaged to...

  ‘Oh, please, Josie. The engagement is announced between Miss Josephine Jamieson, only daughter of...blah, blah, and Mr Conan Devine Zarcourt, blah, blah, blah. It’s in this morning’s Times. Mind you, I didn’t know that Conan Zarcourt lived at Beeches Manor. And how come you never even mentioned him to me?’

  Josie could not believe it. After listening to Zoe ramble on, and promising to tell her the full story at work on Monday, Josie finally put the phone down, and went looking for her father.

  Five minutes later her worst fear was realised. With a bit of judicious questioning of her dad she’d discovered the Major had already prepared the announcement of her engagement to Charles the day he’d learned of his death. Then he had been so upset he had left Conan to see to all the arrangements.

  Her father chuckled. ‘Obviously Conan has simply substituted his own name for Charles’s. You’ve got a good man there, Josephine—clever and quick-thinking,’ he remarked happily, and for the second time in two days she felt like hitting him.

  Instead she went for a long walk across the fields to try and calm down. She could not blame her father; he belonged to a different generation. He had been over fifty when Josie was born, her mother forty-two. Her mother had died when she was ten, and right now Josie would have given anything to have her mother to talk to.

  What she got was dozens of calls all day Saturday, congratulating her on her engagement. On Sunday, when news of Charles’s death appeared in the newspaper, quite a few of the calls congratulated her and then offered condolences too, saying the timing was unfortunate, but could not be helped.

  By Monday evening Josie was spitting nails. She had spent a terrible day at work; Zoe had insisted on hearing the whole story, and Josie hated lying. Everyone in the Cheltenham law firm had congratulated her, including Mr Brownlow himself, and she had felt a complete fraud, especially when sympathy for the death of Charles was expressed.

  When the doorbell rang at seven-thirty she stormed across the hall and flung open the door, ready to give Conan a blasting.

  ‘You! I’m surprised you dare show your face,’ she snarled, and almost slammed the door in his face.

  ‘Is that any way to greet your fiancé?’ Conan mocked. His dark eyes swept over her slender form with studied male appreciation, taking in her flushed, angry face and the tumble of black curls falling around her shoulders. His gaze lingered on her simple red sweater dress that clung to her every curve, then moved down to her shapely legs, to her feet encased in three-inch high-heeled black shoes, and then back to her face. ‘Very nice and very sexy,’ he murmured softly, a slow sensual smile tilting his firm lips.

  She had forgotten how dynamic he appeared in the flesh. He exuded a raw animal magnetism which his casually tailored black suede jacket and hip-hugging moleskin trousers seemed designed to enhance. She had always thought him attractive, but tonight, with his black hair tussled by the evening breeze, there was a sense of power about him, a vitality that sent a frisson of fear down her spine.

  ‘Josie, either ask me in or let’s go.’

  She blinked and, lifting her eyes, she caught the amusement lurking in the depths of his. He knew very well she was mad, and thought it funny.

  ‘Go...? I’d like to tell you where to go! What did you mean—?’ she began.

  ‘Josie, Josie, please. Not on the doorstep.’ And, brushing past her, he picked up her jacket and purse off the chair where she had placed them, and, with a hand at her back, urged her down the path to where his car was parked. ‘Here, put this on. November nights can be cold.’

  She allowed him to slip her jacket over her shoulders and took her purse from his outstretched hand. ‘I want an explanation.’

  ‘Later.’ He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in the car. ‘I don’t believe in arguing and driving at the same time.’ Walking around to the driver’s side, he slid in behind the wheel, and started the engine.

  Josie knew what he said made sense, so, silently fuming, she watched him drive the car along numerous country roads until he pulled up outside a small country pub called The White Swan.

  ‘This is the first pub I had a drink in as a boy,’ Conan remarked, turning in his seat to look at her in the dim light of the small car park. ‘I think you’ll like it; the food is good.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Josie said grudgingly, and felt for the car door.

  ‘Wait,’ Conan commanded, and caught her hand in his. ‘Say what you have to before we go inside.’ He was idly stroking her palm with his thumb as he spoke. ‘I have no intention of arguing with you while we eat.’

  His touch was sending tiny quivers of sensation over her sensitive flesh and it took a supreme effort of will not to tear her hand away. But she could not afford to show him any sign of weakness. Conan would try any trick in the book to get his own way—and some he had personally invented, Josie was sure.

  ‘All right. Explain to me how the announcement of our engagement got in the newspaper so fast, and don’t bother lying, because I know.’

  ‘If you know, why ask?’ he mocked.

  ‘You know damn well what I mean.’

  ‘Don’t curse, Josie; I don’t like that in a lady.’

  ‘Tough, because you’re enough to make a saint curse,’ she shot back.

  ‘All right, I admit it. My father had prepared the announcement of your engagement to Charles on Thursday. He asked me to deal with it, and I did.’

  ‘He had no right to,’ Josie snapped, unaware of what she was revealing.

  Conan’s hand grasped hers tighter. ‘You didn’t know; he didn’t ask you?’

  ‘No. Well... What does it matter? You must have changed the name and entered it on Friday morning at the latest, before even asking me. I might have said no.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘That is not the point.’

  ‘Josie, there is no point.’ Turning her hand over in his, he added, ‘We are engaged; we are to be married in a couple of weeks. Accept the fact and let’s eat.’

  Josie was still seething with resentment as he virtually marched her into the pub with his hand at her elbow. She glanced around. It was a typical old coaching inn, all dark oak and low ceilings, a few oak tables and chairs, and along one wall were small dining alcoves. Not the sort of place she would have expected Conan to frequent. But hey! What did she know about pubs? She had a small circle of good friends she socialised with, and if they went for a drink it was usually to a wine bar in Cheltenham. Anyway, Josie wasn’t much of a drinker—except at that fatal party, she thought bitterly.

  ‘Sit down, Josie, and try to look less like you’re being led to the gallows.’ Conan urged her into a small banquette made for two and slid in beside her.

  ‘Do you have to sit next to me?’ she snapped. He was crowding her, his long leg resting against hers.

  ‘In your present mood, yes,’ he bit out. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to run away.’

  ‘Well, what do you expect? You had no right to put the announcement in the paper without telling me.’

  ‘I had every right.’ He turned sideways, his dark eyes narrowed on her mutinous face. ‘Let’s get one thing straight here and now.’ His strong hand grasped hers and
lifted it to within inches of her own face.

  ‘See that ring? That gives me every right and don’t you forget it.’ His savage undertone sent icy fingers of fear walking up her rigid spine.

  The gloves were off with a vengeance, Josie thought. The suave sophistication Conan portrayed to the world was a thin veneer to mask the ruthless predator beneath. ‘We are not married yet,’ she snorted inelegantly. But the glitter in his piercing dark eyes sent a shiver of apprehension through her body. ‘Engagements are easily broken,’ she continued. Why she was carrying on baiting him Josie did not know.

  His grip on her hand tightened and she had to bite down a whimper of pain. ‘Not this one, lady,’ Conan drawled with silken emphasis on ‘lady.’ ‘No one makes a fool out of me.’

  ‘You do that perfectly well for yourself!’ Josie snapped back. ‘And let go of my hand.’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Conan, my old mate.’ A booming voice interrupted their heated exchange.

  Conan ignored her request and glanced across at the man standing at the opposite side of the table.

  ‘Bootsy!’ he exclaimed. ‘I might have guessed you would still be drinking here.’

  Josie looked at the short, red-haired, blue-eyed man who had spoken and then back at Conan, and was surprised to see a smile of genuine pleasure lighting up his rugged features.

  ‘Not drinking... I own the place. But what about you? I heard on the Beeches bush telegraph that you’re about to be married.’ It was Josie’s turn to get the full power of twinkling blue eyes. ‘And this must be the lucky lady. I could tell you stories about this ‘un you wouldn’t believe.’ He nodded towards Conan.

  ‘Oh. I’m sure I would,’ Josie said dryly.

  ‘Too late, Bootsy.’ Conan’s long arm curved around her shoulders, and his dark head bent to nuzzle her neck. ‘Behave yourself!’ he whispered, his tongue flicking around the inner whorls of her ear. His breath fanned her cheek as he raised his head, and her heartbeat thundered in her eardrums. She couldn’t have spoken even if she’d wanted to, but Conan had no problem.